


Avarice

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bondage, Drug Use, Erotica, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: More Than Two, Threesome, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-05
Updated: 2008-10-05
Packaged: 2018-10-27 16:24:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10812627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: The Malfoys find the perfect way to mix business with pleasure.Lucius/Narcissa/Dawlish





	Avarice

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
> **Author's notes:**
> 
> Written for the Erotic Elves Random Kink Challenge 
> 
> The kinks used were D/P and BDSM 

Narcissa Malfoy surveyed the room with watchful eyes and no small measure of satisfaction. The party was perfect, of course—not that she would have expected less from painstakingly trained house-elves and her own talent for knowing what would impress and enthrall her company and yet still make them feel welcome and pampered. She wanted her guests to feel they walked a knife’s edge—that they were lucky to be favored with an invitation to Malfoy Manor—that they’d better be on their best behaviour and yet still have an unforgettably decadent evening. She wanted them to leave desperate to be asked back again.

From across the room she met Lucius’ eyes, and only she would have noticed that under the steely gaze was approval, and a bit of secrets shared, possibly even a smile of gratitude in the slight upturning of his lips.

Yes, the party was an unquestionable success, but only time would tell how much.

*

They sat on opposite ends of the table at dinner as was proper, but just before the meal she’d made her way to him and poured a glass of wine in a gesture of wifely respect. Their eyes met as she did so, and countless words, though unspoken, passed between them. Oh, yes, he’d seen it too, the brief fixation of the eyes on her neckline as she poured the wine—so uncouth, but what could you expect from someone like that? The father was from an old (if not entirely respectable) family, but no one knew the mother. A foreigner, likely, perhaps even a mudblood. Still, he might suit their purposes nicely.

 

*

It really was no surprise when Lucius directed her towards that particular wing of the house once she’d waved off the last guest\ (quivering with obsequiousness but finally nudged gently and firmly into the ornamental fireplace. _Well, perhaps not the very last guest,_ she mused as she parted ways with her husband between two doors—she to change into something more ‘inspiring,’ and he to ‘seal the deal,’ so to speak.

He would tell her later what he’d said, though she knew the script well enough to hazard a guess or two—he’d ply their special guest with the finest spirits laced with a very rare and valuable potion; one that heightened the senses and dulled reason. And then the trap would be carefully set:

_I saw you looking at my wife, you know…_  
As if she’d ever soil herself with the likes of you…  
However…  
Perhaps….  
There might be something you can do for me to make up for it… 

She heard the voices approach the door and smiled, arranging her skirts about her, her blood humming with anticipation. The light was perfect, the bed was impressive and inviting, the gown was perfect—designed to inflame and yet remind the viewer that this woman was too costly for the average man.

*

Their guest was red-faced by the time he entered the door. His eyes were glittered with a combination of panic and lust and heady potion. When he caught sight of her, though, they went positively ravenous and he licked his lips like some slathering dog.

Oh, she would have fun with this one—the big, strong Auror reduced to a supplicant, an elemental creature, primed to do her bidding. Lucius followed behind, his eyes meeting hers momentarily and sharing a look of triumph. How she adored him. She smiled but remained silent, and their guest cleared his throat.

Lucius had always been a bit of a showman, and knew well the advantages of a well-timed pause while their guest squirmed with embarrassment.

“So, you want to fuck my wife, do you?” he finally asked, and Dawlish turned in shock, first toward Lucius (who looked smugly satisfied) and then to Narcissa with an expression of apology on his face.

She simply smiled beneficently upon him and leaned back further on her arm, the silk of her gown straining against her breasts. His eyes dropped down and stayed there for some time. Lucius moved around the man and sat down on the edge of the bed, letting his fingers run the length of his wife’s hair-from the crown of her head to the curl at the end of a tendril that rested atop her cleavage.

“She’s exquisite, isn’t she? The sort of woman that an ordinary man such as yourself only dreams of. But….as it happens, there is something that I… _we_ want from you, Auror Dawlish…”

Dawlish looked up at that, his eyes darting from one to the other—his ambition and fear warring with the desire so evident on his face and body. “I don’t think…”

“Nothing sinister, of course-” Lucius let that thought take root for a moment, then added, “Nothing illegal, either. You see, for some time I have been concerned about the amount of influence certain people have on our new Minister. Albus Dumbledore in particular—who I am told is in contact with him several times a day…?” Lucius raised an eyebrow and watched their guest as if waiting for confirmation or denial, but the man remained silent—though he shifted on his feet.

“Not that I have anything against our esteemed Professor, and I am confident that Minister Fudge finds his vast years of experience a deep well to draw upon. But he _does_ tend to champion the cause of some at the expense of others--equally worthy of consideration. I would simply like the chance to let my voice be heard from time to time. Sadly, I find that Minister Fudge is… _disinclined_ to accept our numerous invitations to dine here. I have no doubt that it is due to some utterly ridiculous accusations that surrounded me several years ago—ones that were proven to be false, of course, but people tend to forget that sort of thing once a character has been assassinated…” Lucius sighed and paused for effect while Narcissa patted his shoulder consolingly.

“But I digress. And of course, you have seen for yourself that we are simply concerned citizens, anxious to make certain that the ancient rights of Wizards and Witches are not trampled upon.

Dawlish shifted again, looking at both of them warily. “So you want me to—what— _spy_ on Fudge?” He was shaking his head whilst watching the strap on Narcissa’s gown slip slowly down her shoulder (handy little charm, that.)

“Of course not,” Lucius said soothingly. “An ugly word and an even uglier practice. More like…a good word here or there, surely that is harmless? Making certain that he actually sees our invitations—that has been a concern, given the state of the Ministry these days. Though perhaps…if you were to become aware of an opportunity for one to be useful to our dear Minister—perhaps a budget crisis…?”

He let that thought hang in the air for a bit as Narcissa reached up to stroke his cheek. Dawlish watched the movement of her fingers, transfixed. Lucius turned and kissed her then, nothing messy or sordid, but a definite kiss of possession, one she could feel in her very toes.

“And for this you’d _what?”_ Dawlish asked.

Lucius turned his attention back to their guest. “That is up to you, of course. If there is something you need or want—I have nearly unlimited funds and useful contacts and I don’t imagine there is much I couldn’t do for you. A pension, perhaps, once you retire, or financial support for any political aspirations you might have…”

He turned again to his wife and kissed her cheek. “Or perhaps there is something more immediate you desire, something right in front of you, something _irresistible…?_ ”

Dawlish swallowed visibly, his eyes roaming over Narcissa’s body.

She knew it was time to act, and so rose to her feet, approaching him with a sensual sway to her hips, stopping just in front of him and letting him look his fill. She then reached out to run a perfectly manicured fingernail from his powerful shoulder down the length of his arm, finally letting her fingers link with his. “Do you want me then, my pet? Is this a big beautiful Auror trembling with desire for me? What a treat.” She laughed throatily and tugged at his hand. After the first step (which he initially resisted) it was easy. He followed her like a meek puppy.

They approached the bed and Lucius arose only to sit down again in the antique chair next to it, settling back in his seat and sipping his brandy as if he was about to hear a particularly fine string quartet. Dawlish reached the edge of the bed and stood there looking from one to the other, possibly hoping that Lucius would leave, undoubtedly wondering if this was all a bizarre dream.

He finally reached out for her voluntarily, his hand unerringly making contact with her breast (the cave man, _really_ ) and she shook her head. “Oh, no, I don't think so. There are rules to this little game, so you’d better listen carefully. You don’t get to touch me unless I give you permission. Never fear, my pet, you’ll have a night beyond your wildest dreams. But my husband is not above jealousy, and why should he be? Did you think that Lucius Malfoy is in the habit of loaning his wife out for mere favours? Did you think that I think so little of myself that I’d simply do his bidding? Now, remove your shoes and lay on the bed, on your back.”

He was surprisingly compliant after a momentary hesitation, and Narcissa fought the urge to laugh in anticipation. Oh, he’d do nicely, laid out there like a buffet, all that suppressed power, hers to play with. She reclined next to him, drawing a line from his cheek to his sharp jawbone, to the vulnerable skin on his neck, (where he seemed to be having trouble swallowing) down and around his barrel chest and his flat, gloriously hard stomach, finally tracing the length of his arousal and causing him to swear softly. She smiled again and reached for his hand, drawing it over his head and pinning it there, then doing the same with the other one. He was so distracted by her breasts, which were pressing ever closer to his face, spilling over her neckline, warm and fragrant—that he hardly noticed when she bound his hands with a spell. Not for long, though, he was an Auror (if a bit distracted) and he made a momentary struggle. She halted his resistance with a kiss on the lips, one that had him arching up closer to her and shuddering. _Utterly delicious,_ she thought, and went to work on his feet.

 

She took a silken scarf from the side drawer and watched him frown as he realised what she planned to do with it. “Disappointed, my pet? Don’t worry, I’ll give you something to think of while your eyes are covered,” she said, and shimmied out of her gown in a graceful, practiced dance. His eyes were darting wildly up and down her body and his arousal was evident in the way he struggled against the bindings, in the way that his cock—growing more impressive with each passing moment—strained against his robes. She ran her hands down her body for good measure, lingering on her breasts, rolling the nipples between her fingers and making him swear in frustration.

That stopped abruptly when he found his robes missing (a charm she’d perfected over the years) and she took in his body the way a true connoisseur would. Not as fine as Lucius’ perhaps—rougher, more bulky, weathered by the sun and manual labor—but beautiful in its own right.

She bent lower to kiss him again, touching him with feather-light fingers as she moved. He was like a furnace beneath her, setting her skin on fire as she brushed his erection with one silken thigh, sliding it over his body until she was straddling his hips, wearing nothing but her elf-made lace knickers. He pressed up against her—so greedy, so frustrated, dying to touch but unable to do more than buck and whimper. Oh, she rather liked him this way, and felt the heat pooling between her legs.

And so did her dear Lucius, apparently, because the lazy chuckle he made had her looking over to meet his eyes, basking in the appreciation she saw there. She leant forward to tie the blindfold and let her nipple brush over the Auror’s lips. He latched on greedily, sucking and grunting and not objecting to his sudden blindness at all. Not that she was surprised. Men were sometimes ridiculously easy to manipulate, and there was something addictive about sensory deprivation. She intended to have him begging before it was done.

Once the blindfold was secure and his groan of frustration was out of the way, she rewarded him, offering both her breasts, teasing, letting him suck and lick with enthusiasm and then pulling away, pressing them into his face and hearing his muffled oath from between them and then sitting up again, watching his tongue dart out of his mouth blindly.

And then she pressed harder into his erection, moving in circles so that the soft threads of her undergarments slid back and forth over the silk of his cock. It was such an ugly, uncouth, beautiful thing, thick and red and blue-veined, throbbing, wet at the tip, straining towards her as though it had plans of its own.

She kept up her dance, knowing it was inflaming her husband and touching her own breasts, licking her lips, meeting his gaze from under demurely lowered lashes. Perhaps she’d manage to drive him mad enough to touch himself this time. She rather liked those rare occasions when his fierce control would snap.

With that goal in mind, she raked Dawlish’s chest with her fingernails, lightly at first—slow, sensual circles that grew more and more insistent until finally she left marks, causing him to growl and moan and arch even further up, as if her weight was nothing to the force of his desire. She suspected he liked the pain—they usually did, especially the power-hungry types.

To make up for it, though, she covered the same areas with her tongue, soothing the reddened flesh, lapping at his nipples and then sucking progressively harder until it was more like a bite. The first touch of her teeth on him had him jerking up and then away from her, whimpering.

She thought about asking him if she should stop, but that was far more than he deserved. So instead, she said, “You like that, don’t you, pet? I’ll bet you’re just aching to have me treat your cock the same way, aren’t you?”

His answering moan sent shivers of power down her body and she looked at her husband across the room, watching as his smile spread wide and he inclined his head in the merest hint of a nod. She let her tongue trail down Dawlish’s belly, admiring the muscles that rippled under the skin as his body reacted to the stimulation.

"What will you give me, my pet?" she asked, breathing on his cock, so close she could touch it with her tongue, but holding it firmly in place, teasing unmercifully.

"Anything," he moaned, straining towards her. "Please."

Oh, how she loved reducing a man like this to pure need. It was at times like this that she understood her sister's penchant for torture—to hold so much power in your hands—the possibility of life or death.

But that was a line of though that she generally tried to keep from her mind—instead she darted her tongue out to capture the pearly drop at the end of his cock, sighing in pleasure as he groaned and strained towards her. "What will you do for me, pet?" she repeated, and he begged again, saying, "Fudge--he trusts me--he's terrified of assassination—I can talk to him, hell, I'll bring him to you on a fucking silver platter."

Narcissa laughed throatily. "All well and good, my dear, and I'm sure my husband will hold you to it. But what about me?" she asked, and wrapped her lips around him, taking him in a swift, practiced movement into the back of her throat and then releasing him. He howled in pleasure and then frustration.

"Anything," he moaned, and strained against his bonds. "Please."

She repeated the movement, humming her satisfaction around his cock, sliding up and down several dozen times and then releasing him again. _Oh, yes, he’s ready,_ she thought, and after flattening her tongue and licking the length of him one last time she sat up and slid out of her knickers, offering up to her husband the best possible view.

She met his eyes over her shoulder and the answering fire in his went straight between her legs, making her feel deliciously naughty. She touched herself to let him know how badly she desired him, watching his lips twitch and watching that tick in the hollow of his cheek going mad. Then she smiled, bringing her fingers to her mouth, where she tasted her own juices. After touching herself again, she noticed Lucius' fingers tightening around his brandy snifter, (wouldn’t it be exciting if he broke it?) but instead of licking her fingers clean again, she put them to Dawlish's mouth. He sucked them in immediately, licking around and between them.

Oh, he was perfect—the things she wanted to do to him—the possibilities ran through her mind, each more tempting than the last. _But later,_ she promised herself. There would be other times, to bring out her special toy chest, to see just how much pain he was willing to endure for her. It wouldn't do to have him regretting tonight, so perhaps a bit of patience was in order. _Later,_ when he was well and truly hooked..."You like that, do you my dear?"

She slithered up his body again, straddling his chest and running her fingers through his hair. Not as fine as her husbands, certainly, but think and heavy in her hands, a rich dark brown with greying edges that brought out the lightness of his eyes, she remembered. "Will you give me pleasure, my pet? It's only fair."

He licked his lips and nodded, mumbling something that sounded like a plea. Sliding closer to him, she placed her thighs on either side of his face and he stretched his neck up, trying to reach her. She was still too far to reach so he kissed her thigh, breathing deeply and whimpering. Then she lowered herself to his mouth, meeting Lucius' eyes from across the bed, watching and smiling as he bit the inside of his cheek, trying to retain his composure.

The Auror beneath her seemed intent to please her, or at least he was not holding back his enthusiasm for the task she set him. Not that he had much choice in his position—but he licked and sucked and hummed and moaned until she was close, _so very close_ to losing control of the situation. That was when her dear Lucius stepped in, or perhaps he was no longer content to be an observer only.

He rose gracefully from his seat and made his way to the bed, where he bent to kiss her. Clearly, his control was slipping as he curled his fingers into her hair almost to the point of pain. Then he moved behind her, cupping her breasts, pinching her nipples just the way she liked, biting into her neck softly until she could no longer contain herself. She screamed and arched back against her husband, pressing into her plaything's mouth, where he gulped and groaned against the sensitive tissue.

She wasn't about to call it a night, however, or at least she knew that Lucius wasn't. Nor was their guest, tempting as it might have been to make him leave still unsatisfied. She teased him once more; pressing into his face and withdrawing, making him arch into the air, desperate for more contact. And then he yelped, and Narcissa smiled and looked over her shoulder, pleased to see her husband indulging himself with a mouth full of Auror.

"He's delicious, isn't he?" she said, and Lucius bobbed his bead in response, eliciting an extended moan from their new friend. She supposed she ought to have asked Dawlish if he minded, but the noises he was making spoke volumes, and he was still lapping at her rather desperately, all the while thrusting up into Lucius mouth with increasingly jerky motions.

Lucius' fastidious nature might have permitted him to suck on an erection, but it didn't cover allowing another man to come into his throat, so as their plaything began shuddering and whining, she climbed off him. She pulled Lucius up with a hand on either side of his face and kissed him rather desperately, focusing entirely on him and letting him know how terribly he had excited her.

She then began to strip off his robes, stroking his skin as she uncovered it—his beautiful, luminous skin, his silky hair, his sleek muscles. No one would ever compare.

Bending low to trail her tongue down his body, she paused to lick the moisture from his cock and kiss the tip. She heard him whisper her name adoringly and felt his hands in her hair, turning her head just so. _As if she didn't know what he liked best._ She’d nearly made up her mind to show him how much he still thrilled her, to feel the power of him pulsing deep in her throat, but groan from their guest reminded her of his presence.

Narcissa turned her attention back to Dawlish and decided to remove his blindfold before she sank down upon him. She was rewarded by a look of such intense longing as he blinked away the candlelight that she nearly came again then and there. But she wanted to wait, wanted the spasms of her body to be the thing that triggered both of them—wanted to be the very thing that drove them both over the edge. _Heady power indeed._

Dawlish bucked up inside her and then his eyes moved to over her shoulder where Lucius was kissing her neck. Little did he know what a treat Lucius had planned. He was stroking her bottom, using his fingers to spread her wetness to the cleft of her bottom and beyond, inside, outside and she knew that Dawlish could feel the pressure on his cock increasing, and the look on his face told her that oh, yes, he liked that very much indeed. And why shouldn't he?

And then Lucius slid up inside her and she cried out his name, closing her eyes at the intensity of sensation. She missed Dawlish's face as he felt Lucius brush up against him through the thin membrane, but somehow she doubted that the stream of foul language he uttered was meant to express displeasure.

They'd only done this once before, and then only with Severus (and who knew what he was ever thinking and feeling, anyway?) but Dawlish was a much more active participant, or at least he was less reticent.

And he had quite a coarse vocabulary, apparently—not that it didn't secretly thrill her to hear him using it to full advantage. Every filthy word shot an arrow of desire straight between her thighs.

"What would Minister Fudge think if he heard you using such language?" Lucius observed with a note of wry amusement in his voice.

"Fuck him," Dawlish growled, and thrust into her hard, making lights explode behind her eyelids, making even Lucius shout in pleasure. "And fuck me," Dawlish added, breaking the bonds in his exertion, grabbing her hips, thrusting hard and fast and finally howling out his pleasure, his fingers linked with Lucius' over her hipbones.

Then Lucius spoke into her ear, whispering words of love as he thrust into her a final time, making her cry out and arch back against him, utterly spent.

Lucius kissed her cheek and Dawlish took advantage of their distraction to stroke her breasts, making her convulse around them one last time. She had to credit him—for having been so completely subjugated, he took control of the situation in a hurry.

Calm in a crisis, constant vigilance, she supposed, and thought that perhaps Fudge had chosen his protection well after all. He sat up abruptly and she slid off him, leaning against her husband and crossing her arms over her breasts.

"I'm not spying," he said, his voice brisk and daring them to argue. "And I will not agree to anything that will harm the Minister, physically or politically. But I will put in a good word, and I can help you run across him by accident--after that, it's up to you."

He got up and walked to the bathroom without any apparent modesty, though he had to know that neither of them could take their eyes off him. "And next time-" he added as he returned and gathered up his clothes from the neat stack on the chair. "No blindfold."

Narcissa and Lucius shared a smile of amusement and triumph. He'd do very nicely indeed.

* * *


End file.
